


coda

by joanofarcstan



Series: Tolkien Gen Week 2020 [6]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Tolkien Gen Week - Freeform, and we love suffering, gratuitous liberty-taking with music theory, gratuitous use of music theory, see this is the silm, this was 666 words before editing and now i’m disappointed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25208410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joanofarcstan/pseuds/joanofarcstan
Summary: coda, (Italian, noun; lit. ‘tail’): the concluding passage of a piece or movement, typically forming an addition to the basic structure.-For whom does the bell toll? asks Maedhros on the return from battle.For the High King, cry the mourners.For Fingon the Valiant, for he is gone!
Series: Tolkien Gen Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818994
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26
Collections: Tolkien Gen Week 2020





	coda

The moments before the end are perhaps the most clear that Fingon has ever had. It is a blessing, because at least he will be thinking clearly as he goes to his death, and a curse, because the fear mounts and mounts as the turning of time slows to a stop.

But that and the pain of the other Balrog’s fiery whip binding him are distant as the hourglass turns on its head, and the grains of time run backward.

And Fingon Sees:

The first movement begins with Fëanor’s death in the Battle Under the Stars and ends with Fingon’s own rescue of Maedhros from Thangorodrim. Fingon, though he was not there to witness it, has heard the story of the Spirit of Fire burning his own body to ash in his death, but to witness it—a flash so bright it echoes in his eyes until the very end, and then ash so fine it is barely visible being borne away by the smoke—is something else. Likewise, it is exceedingly strange to watch himself walk into Thangorodrim with his harp and fly out on Thorondor’s back with Maedhros in his arms, as if from a great distance.

So it ends with a lingering, lyrical mountain-air melody of hope (perhaps in a flute), but underneath runs a dark, ominous echo of tolling bells that Fingon identifies as the traditional funeral march, and he knows better than to have hope.

He is surprised when the second movement opens with the same sweet mountain air, this time ornamented with laughter and accompanied by peace. The years flow with light, easy grace in this one—his kin settle in their realms, Turgon (ah, so _that_ is where he went) disappears to Gondolin, Finrod builds Nargothrond from stone by Sirion—and Fingon almost smiles. But even as the melody swells to a climax, still the undercurrent of Death’s march, always perfectly in time, never faltering, tempers the joy. It is in Thingol’s banning of the Quenya tongue, and in the Fëanorians’ always looking northward past Himring Ever-Cold, and in the shock and sorrow in Finrod’s eyes as he sits by a lone candle in the dark.

This is not a traditional second movement. The second movement is slow and sorrowful, and although the lyricism is there, the mood is far too kind.

Then the third movement rises like sparks and thick, choking smoke from fire. Red, orange, blue, white, all-consuming fire that would have made a beautiful tapestry of colours had it not devoured everything in its path and then raged on in search for more. But it does not end with Fingolfin’s final ride, his victory in his self-chosen tragedy. Instead, it goes on past that, and the sheer thundering fury of the opening gives way to a mourning keen. The music weeps Finrod’s death at the hands of his oath and _the_ Oath, at Carcharoth’s breaking of the Girdle and his rampage through yet-untarnished Doriath, and then the motif of _fury_ returns, and this is where Fingon stands right now.

 _Ah_ , he thinks, stricken. _You were not the coda, Father. You were the introduction, and I am the coda._

The march of Death is sounded ever and ever closer, the bells tolling ever and ever louder, until it is all he can hear. And then he understands that the second and third movements have had their order reversed. First cheer, then mourning.

(In a traditional symphony, the finale is triumphant. It also has a recurring theme. Fingon ponders this in his very last moment, and hopes with the strength of all the prayers he never sent that his people will triumph, and that Maedhros will be there to lead them to victory.)

Then the hourglass turns right-side-up again, and the grains of time fall faster than water from a cliff. 

Gothmog’s axe falls wreathed in white flame.

The final bell tolls.

(Fingon’s spirit watches as his body burns to ashes. On his journey to the Halls, he thinks, _Strange parallels_.)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments are welcome both here and on my tumblr @[laurierliberal](%E2%80%9C)!


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